


You make the worst things beautiful

by powerfulowl (StuckyFlangst)



Series: Sweet and Sad Stucky mouthfuls [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst and Feels, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers Feels, Captain America: The First Avenger, Explicit Sexual Content, Finding each other again and again, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Smut and Feels, Top Steve Rogers, Via uniforms, Wakanda (Marvel), Wearing each others uniforms, World War II, linked vignettes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:33:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28352484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StuckyFlangst/pseuds/powerfulowl
Summary: He gets up and turns a lamp on, walks over to where Bucky’s uniform is hanging. He runs his hands over the jacket, over the shirt – as if it might still hold the warmth of Bucky’s body. The olive drab is too muted for Bucky Barnes – who is always so bright. Steve breathes deeply at the armpit, the scent of musky sweat stirring warm in his belly.-----Steve and Bucky wear each others' uniforms. They both sometimes need a reminder that they belong to one another.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Sweet and Sad Stucky mouthfuls [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2076327
Comments: 28
Kudos: 84





	1. Your shirt on my back

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short little piece written for a Tumblr prompt - trying on each others uniforms. I got a bit carried away and it's a four [EDIT!] parter now.

Bucky appears in the apartment in the early evening. He’s in his Sergeant’s uniform, cap under his arm and hair neat and short. He lets himself in with his key and stands in the middle of the tiny room.

Steve hates it. He hates the regulation haircut. He hates Bucky in the uniform.

‘What’re you doin’ here Bucky?’ Steve scowls, feeling small and scruffy and inadequate in his undershirt and shorts.

Bucky looks pained, and guilt twists in Steve’s chest, but he shoves it down.

‘I’m shipping out in two days Steve.’ Bucky’s voice is thick with tears. He’s such a crier – always sniffling in the pictures, hand creeping to squeeze Steve’s in the darkness.

Steve’s breath goes and his vision darkens. He struggles with himself, clutching the back of a chair for support. The great loss that has been welling inside him since Bucky got the draft letter, went to basic, expands and consumes him entirely. Since Bucky’s hair was cut and lost those beautiful curls that Steve would see in the morning, before he put his pomade on, falling into his eyes as he drank his coffee in his undershirt.

‘Well, why are you here?’ Steve snaps angrily. ‘Shouldn’t you be with your Ma and Pa? Or goin’ out dancing? Find a girl?’

That’s not what he wanted to say. He wants to say _Why are you going? Why are you going without me? Where have you been? Why don’t you want to touch me anymore?_

Bucky’s face is flushed and he twists his cap. He glares at where Steve’s hand squeezes the chair, white-knuckled.

‘I wanted to go out in my civvies. All my clothes are still here.’ Bucky turns heel and marches over to the battered closet where his second-best suit still hangs alongside his work clothes, his shirts all folded neatly in the drawer. Steve buries his face in them sometimes, catching the scent of pomade and cologne and Bucky that lingers there.

Bucky starts to change and Steve sits, hunching his shoulders and not looking. He can picture Bucky in his shorts and undershirt, picture him naked. But how different is he now? Steve traced all his other transformations – from boy to soft-skinned youth to the lean muscles of a man who lifted boxes in a store, worked at the docks.

But that was shut off to him now. First was the draft letter, then Bucky started to withdraw from him, shy away from his touch. Take Steve out on more and more double dates, refuse to go to the queer bar where they could dance together. And they would fight all the time when Bucky found out Steve was trying to enlist. _It’s the right thing to do Bucky. (Let me go with you)._

Bucky’s dressed now, standing near the door. Looking beautiful, as always, in the navy pinstripe with wide shoulders and waist pinched in, lighter blue striped tie. His hat is in his hands and his lips are so pink.

‘You wanna come with me Steve? Find some company?’

Steve ignores him and Bucky goes, slamming the door behind him.

Steve sits for a long time in the darkening room, chest full of unshed tears.

He gets up and turns a lamp on, walks over to where Bucky’s uniform is hanging. He runs his hands over the jacket, over the shirt – as if it might still hold the warmth of Bucky’s body. The olive drab is too muted for Bucky Barnes – who is always so bright. Steve breathes deeply at the armpit, the scent of musky sweat stirring warm in his belly.

He aches. He aches for Bucky. And so his fingers are unbuttoning the uniform shirt, slipping it off the hanger. Steve pulls off his undershirt and after a moment’s hesitation pulls off his shorts. The he slips Bucky’s shirt on, feeling the touch of the heavy fabric. It’s long on Steve, brushing at his skinny white thighs.

His cock is stirring a little, but Steve barely notices, almost sobbing at the smell of Bucky enfolding him. He slowly buttons the shirt, relishing the rub of fabric against his bare chest, his hard nipples, sending hot webs of sensation through his crotch.

It’s not enough though. He wants the _weight_ of Bucky – of his arms around Steve’s shoulders.

Steve reaches for the uniform jacket and pulls it on, the heavy wool resting on his back like the ghost of Bucky’s embrace. When he pulls the cap on over his eyes he pictures Bucky on the ship, smiling and waving as he becomes vanishingly small, slips over the horizon. There are tears burning in his chest mixing with hot desire – grief and love mingling.

A key turns in the lock and Steve starts. It’s too late to move. To do anything. Bucky’s in the doorway, staring at Steve standing legs bare in Bucky’s shirt and jacket, cap angled on his head.

‘ _Steve_ ,’ Bucky breathes.

Steve juts out his chin and glares, going straight to defiance.

Bucky closes the door, throwing his hat down. He’s flushed and rumpled from dancing, his jacket over his shoulder.

‘Steve, what –’ Bucky licks his lips, eyes heavy on Steve. He must be able to see the tenting of his shirt, see Steve’s arousal.

‘Since you don’t wanna touch me anymore, this was the next best thing,’ Steve says – more raw, more honest than he has ever been. Bucky’s going anyway. Bucky won’t hold him anymore. There was nothing left to lose.

Bucky lets out an agonized moan, tossing his jacket aside and crossing the floor to Steve in a few quick strides.

‘Oh Stevie, Stevie, I hurt you sweetheart.’ And oh he’s gathering Steve in his arms and pressing him close, burying Steve’s face in is neck. ‘I’m so sorry, so sorry. Look at you, look at you.’

Bucky’s voice breaks and Steve feels the sob in his chest.

He grabs Bucky’s face and pulls him down into a crushing kiss. Bucky moans again as their tongues slide desperate and messy together, as Steve’s teeth bite down and yes they are both here now.

‘You look so fucking good in my uniform Stevie,’ Bucky whispers hoarsely, hands running across the fabric of the shirt, rubbing across Steve’s nipples.

Steve moans and wriggles.

Bucky steps back a little, holding Steve’s face in his hands. Steve’s stomach swoops. But Bucky isn’t running from him, isn’t looking away. He’s looking _at_ Steve, _into_ him.

Bucky kisses him softly, so softly on the lips, and whispers, ‘I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.’

‘Don’t you ever do anything like that ever again,’ Steve growls.

They stumble over to the bed, Steve clambering over Bucky. Steve starts to take the jacket off but Bucky stops him.

‘Keep it on, Stevie,’ he says, eyes dark. He touches Steve’s neck, his collarbone, and starts to unbutton the shirt, running his fingers along Steve’s skin.

Steve looks down in wonder. Beautiful Bucky Barnes, still in his suspenders and shirt sleeves, staring at Steve’s skinny chest like it was a three-course meal. 

Steve lunges forward to catch those perfect, plump lips, to fumble with buttons, to feel his flesh pressed against Bucky’s, to trace the lines of Bucky’s muscles and learn the shape of his body, this young solider heading off to war. The new callouses on his palms that Bucky doesn’t like to speak of.

Then Bucky is naked underneath him. Steve has rolled up the sleeves of the shirt and Bucky slide his hands to encircle Steve’s waist underneath the olive fabric.

‘I want you to do me, Steve,’ Bucky breathes, wanton and glorious. Their cocks are touching and Steve thrusts down a little, both of them gasping at the rough slide of skin against skin.

It isn’t always easy for Steve with his lungs and his back, but he’s been in rude good health this year relatively speaking, and Bucky is so raw and desperate that all Steve can do is kiss him and say _yes yes yes_. He reaches for the Vaseline and slicks Bucky’s cock first, fisting it slowly as he presses into Bucky’s taint, whispers across his hole. He can see in Bucky’s eyes that he’s losing himself; losing himself beautifully as Steve presses a finger in, works him open. Bucky keens and thrashes as Steve adds another, presses to find that spot that feels so good. Then he slicks himself, trembling a little. Bucky holds himself behind the knees, pulling his legs up and showing himself to Steve – the pink of his blush matching the pink of his fluttering hole.

Steve kneels and guides his cock in, gritting his teeth at the exquisite squeeze of Bucky’s body around him, pushing in slowly until he’s completely surrounded by Bucky – the heat of his body, the weight of his shirt on Steve’s back. Bucky whimpers and looks at Steve through wet lashes and Steve thrusts into him again and again, panting and quivering.

They neither of them last long – so pent up over these months of Bucky holding Steve away. Bucky cries when he comes in Steve’s fist, and doesn’t stop even after Steve shudders and collapses across his chest, hiding his own tears in the sweat on Bucky’s neck.

Steve is still wearing Bucky’s shirt like a talisman as Bucky traces under the fabric - the small of his back, the jut of his shoulderblades.

‘I love you Steve Rogers,’ Bucky whispers wetly. ‘I’ll always love you. When I’m away, when I’m over there, I’ll think of you just like this, how you can make the worst things beautiful, even for a moment.’ Bucky runs his hands across the fabric of the shirt, and Steve shivers to think of the feel of it on Bucky’s back in a battlefield in Europe.

‘I love you too, Bucky Barnes.’ Steve’s voice is tight and his fingers dig bruises into Bucky’s sides.

_And I’ll come after you, over the horizon_ , Steve swears silently. Bucky can carry that promise woven into his uniform by the feeble heat of Steve’s body; the inferno in his heart.


	2. You're keeping the outfit, right?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve kept the outfit. And Bucky finds it in the closet of their hotel room in London. If Steve won't touch him anymore, he might need to try a substitute.

Bucky slams the door shut behind himself, leaning against the hard wood and squeezing his eyes shut, legs trembling. Images flash beneath his closed eyelids – Zola’s face, bodies littered across a beach in Italy, Peggy Carter in a red dress, Steve’s face just half an hour ago in a briefing room gazing at her intently.

Open eyes are better. Yes, it’s sad to look across the twin beds in the hotel room, both neatly made. Sad to think about how they spent last night curled in silence, apart.

But it’s better than the dark behind his eyes.

Bucky’s heart hurts. Started hurting the day he got that draft letter. He thought nothing could hurt worse than losing Steve. But then he landed on that Italian beach. Then Azzano. And then Steve arriving into that horror, who should have been safe at home in Brooklyn, drawing pictures.

Bucky slips of his jacket and walks to the wardrobe in the corner of the room. He opens the door and pulls out a hanger. A new jacket. Not the one that Steve wore for him, all those months ago. Sadness and desire churn in Bucky’s stomach and he swallows back tears. Steve hasn’t tried to touch him beyond a quick hug, a shoulder bump. Bucky thought maybe after that night in the bar. But then Peggy in her red dress must have wiped Bucky away.

He was, after all, so thin now. So insubstantial. Steve keeps trying to get him to eat more. And he could. That’s the thing. He could eat so much more, and never be full. He has lost none of his strength. His skin prickles with the memory of needles in his arms.

His hand touches soft fabric. It’s Steve’s suit. Not the uniform he’s wearing today, or the new suit that Howard’s making him. But what Steve calls his dancing monkey outfit. Bucky pulls it out to look.

The top is on the hanger: it’s made of stretchy, thick material. Bucky runs his hand across the white star on the blue, the red and white stripes. Bucky can imagine Steve’s chest filling it out, his heart beating strong and sound now, not like back in Brooklyn where Bucky would listen to it stutter against Steve’s ribs. Bucky inhales, but the uniform has been washed, and smells of soap and cotton, not of Steve.

Perhaps the grief that rises in him (for Brooklyn, for Steve skinny and frowning over a drawing at the kitchen table, for Bucky resting on the couch with a book on his chest dreaming of stars) blinds him for a moment. He finds his fingers fumbling with the buttons of his own shirt, Steve’s uniform laying across his bed. Bucky pauses for a moment, chest half bared. Then strips off his shirt, unbuttons his pants, sits to unlace his boots, feeling all the while the whisper of the uniform across the bed.

Steve hasn’t tried to touch him. Mustn’t want to anymore. He must know what things Bucky has done, what has been done to him. Loves him enough still to ask him to stay, but not enough to crawl into bed with him in the evening, press kisses to the veins along the inside of his arms (which Bucky imagines would stop the prickling there, even only for a moment).

Bucky drops his trousers to the floor. Strips off his undershirt, his shorts.

When he carefully removes the top from the hanger he finds the tights inside, tucked over the crossbar of the hanger. He removes them almost reverently. He never really saw Steve wear them. He has seen pictures. He imagines Steve’s long, thick legs encased in these. Bucky’s cock stirs and he bites down on his lip. Shorts. Steve used to wear shorts with them. They don’t seem to be on the hanger.

Bucky sits and rolls the tights up his legs. He watches the blue fabric cover his pale skin, his dark curling hair. His muscles are ropey and defined, all his youthful fat burned away on battlefields and in Hydra’s prison cells. But the soft of the fabric brings some small relief – like a memory of Steve’s calloused palms running over his skin. Past his knees, over his thighs. He stands to pull them on completely and whimpers a little at the feel of the tights cupping his balls, rubbing on the underside of his cock.

He runs his hands over his thighs, over his ass, remembering how vain he was once – always checking the fit of his pants, the cut of his shirt. Now his ribs jut beneath his skin – pale and still covered with healing scars from wounds he remembers only from a fever dream of agony. Hair curls across his chest, trails into the tights. Steve would touch it once. Bucky doesn’t even know if Steve’s once bare chest has changed. Steve turns away from him in the bedroom, retreats to the bathroom to dress.

Bucky picks up the blue, red and white top, running his fingers along the seams where the panels join. He slips it over his head. It’s a little loose on him. Even with the stretch in the fabric.

It’s warm and heavy. Bucky presses his hand to the star. He lies out on the bed, curling his arms around himself. Just for a moment he risks closing his eyes. He wishes he was brave enough to lie out on Steve’s bed, then maybe he could smell him on the sheets. Imagine these were his arms around him. Steve leaning over him at Azzano – an angel come to save him.

A key turns in the lock and the door opens. Bucky starts up onto his elbows and locks eyes with Steve, suddenly aware that his cheeks are wet with tears.

Steve stands open-mouthed for a moment, then pushes the door shut with a heavy thud, a turn of the latch. Steve’s eyes trail over Bucky. How ridiculous must he look? Cock half hard in the blue tights, feet bare, the Captain America top clinging in soft folds to his torso.

There is a blush rising to Steve’s cheeks. Steve in his Army uniform – olive green with buttons shining on his chest. None as bright as the blue of his eyes the gold of his hair.

‘ _Bucky_ ,’ Steve croaks, then blushes even harder.

‘I’m sorry, Steve, I –’ but there’s no explanation he can give. _I missed you. I missed your touch._ He’s tired and hollow.

So Bucky sits up and goes to swing his legs over the side of the bed.

But Steve’s there, making the mattress dip, holding Bucky’s shoulders, running his thumb along Bucky’s cheek to wipe away his tears.

‘ _Bucky_ ,’ Steve says again, low and wet and sad this time. ‘Bucky, why are you crying?’

Bucky is trapped in the sky of Steve’s pupils. Blinded by the sun that shines there always – too hot and bright and good for him.

‘I missed you. I missed you. I wanted –’ _to be held, to be touched, to be treasured_.

‘Oh, Bucky,’ Steve’s cradling his face now. Their lips are so close. ‘Oh baby, I’m sorry.’

And then Bucky is enfolded by Steve, by those tree trunk arms, pressed into that huge chest where he can hear the steady thump of Steve’s heart. Steve’s hands are running up and down his back, tracing his spine, squeezing his sides. Bucky shudders and surrenders to the warmth, the smell of Steve. Of English soap and London streets and arguments in briefing rooms. Of skin and sweat.

Bucky’s hands are in Steve’s hair.

‘You look so good in my uniform, sweetheart,’ Steve murmurs in his ear, running his hand across the curve of Bucky’s ass beneath the tights.

‘I can’t believe you just got up in front of people in these tights, Steve,’ Bucky sniffed. ‘They’re indecent.’

Steve chuckled and squeezed.

‘Well, I wore them with shorts.’

Then Steve is pressing kisses to Bucky’s neck, to his jaw, capturing his lips and crushing them urgent and wet.

Bucky moans as Steve pushes him down onto the bed. He has never felt Steve’s new weight above him like this, the heavy length of his body pushing down on Bucky, arms encasing him.

Steve’s rubbing the rough cloth of his uniform against Bucky, hitching up the spandex top and exposing Bucky’s belly, pressing his hand on the length of Bucky’s cock through the tights.

Steve’s hand is jerking Bucky roughly, the friction of the tights delightful, unbearable. Bucky whines and scrabbles at Steve’s jacket buttons, pushing it off Steve’s shoulders, scrabbling at his shirt so their flesh of their torsos press together.

Steve’s hand is unrelenting, Bucky’s cock flaming raw.

‘ _Steve_ ,’ he whimpers, ‘ _Steeeeve, please_.’

‘What Buck, you want me to stop?’ Steve purrs into his ear, the heavy weight of his own crotch pressed to Bucky’s thigh.

Bucky moans and squeezes his eyes shut, tears on his lashes.

‘I didn’t think so,’ Steve whispers, gently kissing Bucky’s earlobe, the tickle of his tongue in soft contrast to the brutal grip of his hand around Bucky’s dick.

‘Come for me Bucky, come in my uniform, since you like it so much.’ Steve’s voice is melted chocolate and his hand squeezes like a vice and Bucky does – comes hot and wet and shaking into the fabric as Steve kisses his eyelids, licks the tears off his lashes, off his lips.

Steve wraps Bucky up in his arms ad rocks him back and forth. Bucky’s mind is quiet and behind closed eyes he can see nothing but flashes of white and blue. Steve’s shirt is open and his heart presses against the embroidered star on the rucked-up uniform.

‘I thought you didn’t want to touch me anymore,’ Bucky says, eyes still closed.

‘Bucky, Bucky, look at me.’ Steve’s hands are on his face again and Bucky opens his eyes, gazes into blue. Steve still has freckles across his nose. His hair still falls in his eyes. His lips are still pink and a little chapped.

‘Bucky, I love you. I still want you. I just didn’t know –’ Steve breathes out slowly. Bucky can feel the line of Steve’s hard cock in his pants ( _still on!_ ), feel the warmth of his body, the rapid rise and fall of his chest. ‘I didn’t know if you would want me, now I’m different.’

Bucky stares at him then surges forward to kiss him hard. ‘You fucking dumbass.’

They’re both trembling, holding tight enough to bruise.

‘Fuck me,’ Bucky whispers.

Steve pushes him down on the bed.

‘Only if you leave the uniform on.’

Bucky laughs as he watches Steve shuck off his pants.

The prickling in his skin does quieten, for an hour or so.


	3. The things we no longer carry, the things we hold instead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wakanda, before Infinity War.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have changed the chapter count. I feel like leaving the ending before Infinity War was too sad.

Steve has gone to the city to meet Sam, Natasha and Wanda and dine with T’Challa.

Bucky had declined, not sure he could handle watching Steve with his team. With the people watching his back. When Bucky couldn’t.

Steve swore that he didn’t mind. _I’m just so happy to have you here safe, Buck. Recovering_.

So, Steve would come and stay in Wakanda. Sometimes with his team. Sometimes alone. He would stay in the hut with Bucky, usually. Sleep on the spare mattress. Even though Bucky’s mattress was big enough for both of them.

It wasn’t the same as it was before.

Bucky clears away his dishes. Washing his bowl which held his simple vegetable and lentil stew. He eats meat when offered hospitality, but he never cooks it himself. The goats are too cute. He doesn’t want to see the light go out in their eyes. Like in all those eyes he remembers.

Maybe that’s why Steve had gone into town. He was hungry.

Bucky gives a sudden laugh, which sounds bitter and empty to his ears.

In the corner of the single room the shadowy figure of Steve’s uniform hangs. Someone had brought it back today, cleaned and repaired. It stirs in Bucky’s mind – stirred memories sweet and sad.

He is dressed in soft pants without a shirt, his feet bare on the cool floor as he crosses the room, drawn by the presence which is Steve and not-Steve.

Oh, he remembers. He touches the uniform. So solid and strong, compared to that flimsy costume Steve had word on stage. _Bucky_ had worn, once.

His skin prickles with desire. Desire he pretends to himself – often with some success – has vanished like so many parts of Bucky Barnes he lost along the way.

But when Steve comes and stays – so huge and shaggy now with that beautiful golden-brown beard and his soft eyes and the way he is always so gentle around Bucky – he can’t pretend. His skin betrays him, his cock stirs at inopportune moments.

Yesterday they went swimming naked in the lake and Bucky had to watch Steve rising from the water, back turned, the acres of his pale back, the curve of his perfect ass.

Bucky is hard now. His hands wandering across the planes of the uniform. The empty space which is still shaped like a star. The symbol of what Steve gave up for Bucky.

Bucky knows. He knows Steve loves him. But he still wants more. What they had once. Once when they had everything.

\-----

Shuri doesn’t let Steve leave straight after dinner. He’s a bit put out. He wants to get back to Bucky as soon as possible. She rolls her eyes at him as if she knows what he’s thinking and pulls him by the hand through the halls.

‘Don’t worry Captain,’ she smirks, ‘it’s for the White Wolf. It’s a present for him.’

Steve goes a little more willingly through the maze of hallways.

The room she leads him to is simple. Looks like a fitting room or an old-fashioned tailor’s studio, draped with richly coloured fabrics and benches with carefully organised trays of pins and threads.

On a hanger on one of the many hooks is a uniform. A blue waist-length jacket which fastens to the side, and has only one sleeve.

Steve’s breath catches. The stand of the collar, the colour, the cut, has hits of Bucky’s wartime coat. Steve remembers him in it, sitting on a log in the snow in France smoking a cigarette, hands bare and pink with cold.

The pants are tough-looking, plain.

‘Don’t worry. It’s all very technical fabric. Lots of pockets for knives. I know the wolf likes his claws.’ Shuri picks up the uniform, which Steve sees now is covered in a translucent mesh holding it in place.

‘It will keep him safe, should the time come when he needs to fight again.’ Shuri’s voice is kind, but a little sad.

‘I hope that time doesn’t come at all,’ Steve says gravely.

‘As long as you keep fighting, he will want to stand up beside you again one day,’ Shuri says. Maybe a little judgmentally.

Steve feels a kind of joy mixed with his grief and hates himself for it. Because that’s the way it’s always been, isn’t it? Steve unable to stop fighting, and Bucky stepping in because he can’t stand watching Steve hurt.

Only once had Bucky gone first, and how angry Steve had been with him.

‘Thank you, Shuri,’ he says with a smile.

‘Go home to your man,’ she dismisses him with a wave.

He pauses on the lakeshore for a few moments, holding the suit draped over his arms. It’s the memory that moves him to do it. The memory of the fabric of Bucky’s sergeant’s uniform under his fingers a lifetime ago.

He lays the suit on the grass and the mesh covering parts easily under his fingers. Then he touches the fabric. It’s smoother than he thought it would be. The empty sleeve doesn’t make him as sad as it would have, before.

He knows Shuri is making Bucky a new arm as well. He’s watched them testing it. It’s beautiful. Black and gold.

But he’s seen Bucky tending the goats, working in the fields, digging in his vegetable garden, cooking, swimming, all with one arm. And he seems content. Peaceful.

Steve loves Bucky this way. Loves Bucky. Even if.

The feel of the fabric under his hand quickens his pulse. The old hunger stirs in his belly. For the taste of salt on Bucky’s skin. The arch of his back. The cries tumbling from his lips.

Steve knows his blood is too quick. His skin is too hot. He strips off his shirt. Just to see.

He puts an arm through the sleeveless hole first. The fabric stretches and adjusts. Some science magic of Shuri’s. He puts his arm through the other sleeve.

It’s tight on him, obviously made for Bucky. It fastens with something like a zip but smoother, stronger. It will only zip up to the bottom of his ribcage, where his torso flares out. His pectoral muscles strain against the fabric.

He’s wearing a pair of light black pants, that would be loose on most people but cling to his thighs.

His cock is hard and his breath is coming quickly.

He could just – he rubs his hand along his length through the fabric. Then he looks towards the hut – orange light still pouring out the windows.

He walks towards the door, carrying the uniform pants and his own shirt. Presses his hand to the screen near the door. The door slides open and – _oh fuck_.

Bucky is standing near Steve’s uniform. He’s wearing Steve’s pants, but they’re still unfastened. The fabric strains against Bucky’s thighs, and the pants cut for Steve won’t fasten around his thicker hips, waist. He’s shirtless still, but wearing Steve’s shield harness.

His torso is glorious. Which Steve knows. Has seen. He’s not solid muscle like the soldier Steve fought on the bridge, in the helicarriers, and he’s lost some of the bulk he’d gained in hiding. He’s strong from work, well fed, a layer of fat softening the ridged muscles of his belly.

He is beautiful and bound in Steve’s harness. The harness he still wears for a shield he no longer carries. That he threw away for Bucky. So right. So right to see Bucky wearing it – golden from the sun, hair in soft waves around his face.

‘Shuri finished your uniform,’ Steve says, feeling his voice gravelly in his throat.

Bucky’s mouth is open and his eyes range across Steve’s torso. He recognises the jacket, obviously. Must have tried it on for size.

The look of fear that flickered across his face when Steve opened the door has passed. He’s trembling a little. Confused. He shouldn’t be confused.

Steve drops the pants and shirt carelessly on the floor and crosses the room in a few quick strides.

He stops inches from Bucky, their hot breath touching – a prelude, a promise.

_You remember this. You want this._

Steve can’t decide whether it’s a question or a statement. Can’t find the breath for the words.

Then Bucky reaches out his hand and runs his fingers over Steve’s bare arm. Steve shivers at the cool touch.

‘You still –’ Bucky lips his lips, eyes fixed on Steve’s throat, where surely the pounding of his pulse must be visible. ‘You still – want me – like that. Like when you wore my jacket. Before I left.’

‘Bucky, yes, yes, of course.’ Steve raises his hands to cup Bucky’s face.

Bucky’s eyelashes tremble, a little damp, and he raises his eyes to look at Steve.

‘You look so good, Bucky, so good in this.’ Steve runs his hands over the straps of the harness. ‘It’s like I’m holding onto you.’

‘Yes, Steve, please,’ Bucky whispers.

Steve leans in and kisses him so gently so carefully, gripping the straps so tightly they must dig into Bucky’s flesh.

Bucky moans into the kiss, lips wet and warm and tasting of tears. His lips part so easy for Steve’s tongue. His mouth is everything. Tasting of spices.

Steve kisses down his throat and Bucky’s head lolls, his fingers in Steve’s hair.

‘Fucking hell Steve, coming in here with that beard and that shaggy hair with your cleavage bustin’ out.’

Steve bites down on Bucky’s neck, tasting the sweat, feeling the blood moving warm in his vein. Fuck, he remembers Bucky running off his mouth, telling him he was beautiful when no one else thought that was true.

He bites down on Bucky’s shoulder, near where the harness cuts into his skin.

‘Look so good in my jacket Steve, look so good.’ Bucky slips a hand in where the jacket flap is open and squeezes Steve’s pec, runs his thumb over Steve’s nipple.

Steve growls and grips the harness, pushes his groin into Bucky, rubbing his cock against the open zipper of his own uniform pants, Bucky’s briefs.

He’s on fire. Bucky is murmuring sweet nonsense in his ear. His fingers are running over Bucky’s golden skin, the hair curling on his chest that’s grown again as his body returns to him. Down the trail from his belly button to where the pants are open.

Steve mouths down his chest to suck on his nipple and Bucky arches just so into Steve’s hand, presses the wet fabric of his briefs filled out with his hot cock into Steve’s palm.

Steve knows neither of them will last long, this first time in a long time. His fingers scrabble and he frees Bucky’s cock, gazing down at it – thick and perfect as it always was.

Bucky unzips the jacket with deft fingers. He loosens the tie of Steve’s pants and they drop softly to the floor.

It’s Bucky who takes them both in hand, smoothing the bursts of pre-come across the tips of their cocks, down the underside of their lengths so when he squeezes them together they slide rough and wet against one another.

And Steve grabs the harness and crushes his mouth to Bucky’s again. They suck and bite, ravenous and desperate. Steve opens his eyes and sees the grey-blue of Bucky’s iris almost swallowed with black.

Steve thrusts into Bucky’s tight fist, feels their chests press together, their ribs kissing with each rapid breath.

Their lips break apart as their messy fucking grows more urgent.

‘ _Yes Steve please so good yes yes_ ,’ Bucky babbles.

Steve grunts and gasps and comes and comes over Bucky’s fist, keens at the sensation of Bucky’s final thrusts against his oversensitive shafts, bellows and comes again as Bucky spills between them with a sob.

They’re pressed to the wall. Steve didn’t even notice. Didn’t notice anything but Bucky burning and trembling in his arms.

The air of the room is cool around them.

‘I love you, Bucky,’ Steve can feel the tears on his cheeks, knows he must look ridiculous in the too small jacket, pants around his ankles.

But Bucky looks at him through wet lashes like they’re just boys again, in a squeaky bed in Brooklyn.

‘I love you too, Steve, in all the ways I did before, and more, so many more.’

The rest their foreheads together and soon they’ll strip and maybe walk down naked to the lake to swim in the darkness and kiss in the water and tonight Bucky thinks tonight Steve will sleep with him on his mattress and yes he’ll have to leave to go off and fight again but when he comes back Bucky will be there to greet him and hold him and love him in every way possible for as long as they have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I added one more chapter to the chapter count, because I think I now need a post-Endgame fixit so it has a totally happy ending. Theme is - not wearing any uniforms.
> 
> I promise it will be up soon!


	4. Just Steve and Bucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Endgame fixit of sorts, and a happy ending for our boys, no longer in uniform.

Bucky counts the seconds in the clearing. Five seconds feel like eternity. How did Steve wait for him for 5 years? Bucky knows it has come with a cost. Sees it in the furrows in Steve’s brow that the serum can’t smooth. Sees it in the reserved, cautious way he touches Bucky, speaks to Bucky. Like he’s afraid Bucky will vanish into dust again.

Bucky’s used to lost time. But he worries he might have lost Steve too. Might have left Steve too many times – voluntarily or not.

Then Steve’s back on the platform again. Holding his shield.

‘Man, I thought this was just a return mission, Steve,’ Sam exclaims. ‘Did you heist the shield from yourself in the past?’

Steve laughs tiredly, staring down at the shield in his hands.

‘I got Howard to make me another one.’

‘ _Howard_ ,’ says Sam. ‘How long were you gone for?’

Bucky feels distant from the scene. Steve spent time back then? Doing what? With who? He feels the bitter stirring of his old jealously about Peggy. Did Steve stay with her? Find something with her he never found in Bucky’s arms?

Steve is looking sheepish and rubbing the back of his neck, which is always a bad sign. Sam’s crossed his arms and is giving Steve the _what have you done now_ look. The two of them are ridiculous. They both pretend to be the responsible one, when clearly _neither_ of them are the responsible one.

‘Look, I just had to – _fix_ a couple of things.’ Steve runs his hand through his hair, making it stick up in all directions. Bucky kind of preferred the shaggy mane and the beard, but he guesses Steve thought he had to be Captain America again for a while. For the end of the world.

‘ _Fix_?’ Sam says, intensifying the disappointed glare.

‘Well, not change anything about _our_ timeline. But it seemed to me that I could create _another_ timeline where–’ Steve breaks off and looks at Bucky.

Bucky keeps his face carefully blank. _Where?_ Where he could live a life with Peggy? Maybe Steve doesn’t age at all. Maybe he’s just gone and lived a whole life without them and come back here just to give them the shield.

‘Where I helped Peggy and Howard save Bucky from Hydra and find me in the ice way earlier.’ It comes out in a rush. Steve’s clutching the shield against his chest as if to protect himself from Sam’s reaction.

‘Huh.’ Bruce cocks his head. ‘I guess that could work. But how could you be sure you’d come back to this point in time in _your_ timeline, not the other timeline?’

‘Um, I had to go back to before the split and then come forward again.’

‘You’re smarter than you look, Cap,’ Bruce winks at him. ‘Bet you had trouble finding extra Pym particles though.’

Bruce is saying this like it’s all good fun. Not like Steve went on his own personal time heist and risked getting lost forever to save some other version of Bucky. From all that suffering.

Bucky breathes deep and tries to imagine. That Bucky. Who went through the war, yes. And did get captured by the Russians. By Russian Hydra. Yes he suffered. So much. But also not at all compared to the decades that followed. Compared to almost killing Steve.

Bucky looks up and Steve is staring at him. Steve is scared. Scared Bucky is mad that Steve was an idiot again and could have been lost forever in space an time, far from Bucky.

‘Dumb punk,’ says Bucky softly. ‘Can’t let you do anything by yourself.’

And Steve’s face splits into a blinding grin. He puts the shield down and starts pressing buttons to get the suit to release. Then he’s striding across the clearing in tight leggings and an even tighter long sleeved top and he’s wrapping Bucky in the tightest hug in the history of humankind.

‘I just couldn’t bear the thought of you going through that,’ Steve whispers in his ear. ‘I wanted a universe where it didn’t.’

‘You are such a fucking idiot,’ Bucky whispers back. Then he presses a long, hard kiss to Steve’s mouth that leaves Steve’s lips pink and wet and his eyes dark and shining.

‘Break it up, guys,’ Sam raises his voice and pokes them both in the arm. ‘I haven’t finished lecturing the Captain.’

Steve turns and wraps Sam in a hug, laughing. ‘I’m not the Captain anymore, Sam. I’m going into retirement.’

‘But you brought back a new shield!’ Sam’s voice is muffled in Steve’s shoulder.

‘It’s for you,’ Steve says, pulling back to look at Sam. ‘I’m giving it to you.’

And that shuts Sam up. He stares open mouthed at Steve and then at the shield.

‘Are you allowed to do that?’ he asks.

‘I’m the one with the shield and the uniform,’ Steve shrugs. ‘I’ll get Pepper to arrange a big, very public teleconference where I announce it and hand over the shield. That’ll make it harder for them to take it away from you.’

‘Plus flying Captain America is gong to be super cool,’ adds Bruce.

So there’s a big teleconference, and an announcement, and there’ll be a lot of politics afterwards, but now Steve and Bucky are just Steve and Bucky. They’re in a hotel room on the side of a highway somewhere in Virginia, and neither of them have a uniform in their bag.

Steve steps out of the shower with a towel around his waist and Bucky watches hungrily. The ripple of those beautiful pecs, pink nipples on pale skin. The outline of Steve’s abs, the line of his adonis belt. Bucky wonders if his body can ever soften, could ever be smoothed out with lines of comfort and work that’s not violence or killing. He found that in Wakanda. He hopes Steve can find it too.

They haven’t decided where they’re going. For a while they’ll just wander, taking paths they’ve never had time for before.

Steve’s looking at Bucky too, now. Bucky’s sprawled on the bed in a soft white t-shirt and red shorts, his hair down. He spread his legs a little more and stares at Steve.

Steve drops the towel, revealing all the glory of his half-hard cock, so straight and true. Bucky’s own cock pulses in his shorts and he presses his hand down on his crotch, biting his lip.

The Steve’s looming over him, caging him in with his legs that go on forever and his huge arms. Bucky leans his face up and Steve capture his lips with his teeth. Their kiss is ravenous, sharp, wet. Their kiss is everything.

Bucky’s mouth is on Steve’s nipples, Steve’s hands are ripping Bucky’s shirt. Bucky is ripped open. Nothing is hidden anymore between them. No part of them is owned by anyone else.

They don’t talk. Steve growls like a beast. Bucky whines and squirms.

Steve pulls Bucky’s shorts off and then devours his cock, sucking sloppily, scraping his teeth over the base until Bucky screams in delight.

‘I want to ride you, Bucky,’ Steve growls. ‘I want to know you’re here.’

Bucky murmurs _yes yes yes_ and Steve has lube, is fingering himself open efficiently, reaching behind. Bucky spreads Steve’s ass cheeks and feels his fingers pumping in and out, hears the squish of the lube. Steve looks so beautiful above him, chest heaving, lips parted, eyes fixed on Bucky.

Then he’s slicking up Bucky’s cock. Bucky moans and thrusts into Steve’s fist.

‘I’ve got you, I’ve got you,’ Steve soothes, and then lowers himself down on Bucky’s shaft.

It’s so much, it’s so much. Steve’s ass is so tight, quivering and releasing again and again as he lowers himself down. Bucky sees stars, sees the inside of the soul stone, sees _Steve Steve_ biting his lip and fluttering his heavy, dark eyelashes, damp with tears. He bottoms out and they breathe together – short sobbing breaths – for a moment, for eternity, sweat dripping off Steve onto Bucky’s flesh.

Then Steve fucks himself down onto Bucky, relentless and glorious, all hot walls and a tight rim he teases again and again. Bucky watches him take his own cock in his hand and pump in time, his other hand pressed to Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky just holds on to his beautiful tiny waist for dear life until Steve comes in ribbons across Bucky’s chest, spasming around Bucky’s cock and tearing a glorious, painful orgasm out of him.

Bucky wails and Steve grins and grins, collapsing onto Bucky and pulling them onto their sides, facing one another. Their breath calms and stills as they stair into one another's eyes.

‘Haven’t done it that way since 1944,’ Bucky mumbles.

Steve laughs. ‘There’s a whole lot of new ways we could try too, you know. The internet is very informative.’

Bucky snorts and curls into Steve. Fuck, he loves him. He loves him so much.

And here they are, in a shitty motel bed. Steve and Bucky. Just Steve and Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who have this little fic so much love. I love you all too. I write as I post so your encouragement and engagement really made me persist with this one. Readers are beautiful.
> 
> I like to leave a little reflection at the end of all my fics. I learned several things writing this:  
> 🌵 I cannot write tumblr prompts  
> 🌵 But linked fics through time can be really effective as an alternative to a full narrative  
> 🌵 Anything that ends before Infinity War that is canon or canon-adjacent will be sad so if you want a happy ending you will need an extra chapter

**Author's Note:**

> I love all your thoughts and comments, whatever they may be. 
> 
> This was my first prompt, and I would totally do another one. I'm on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/stuckyflangst) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/powerfulowl2)


End file.
